


Chapped Lips- Destiel

by pzreich



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, One-Shot, lips, touching face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pzreich/pseuds/pzreich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some fluff I wrote up with Cas exploring Dean's face while he is sleeping. I promise it isn't creepy at all, but then again Cas does that without meaning to. I may make this a series, so stay tuned. Enjoy, lovelies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapped Lips- Destiel

Castiel had never really noticed lips.  
Everyone had them, thick or thin and he sometimes watched their mouths open and close, or smiling. That was his favorite. He liked it when they smiled.  
But while he watched their mouths, their lips seemed hardly important.  
As he sat in the dusty motel room off I-90, looking at the sleeping form of Dean Winchester, his lips were the only thing he was focused on. They were supple and chapped and they _moved_ , every time Dean took a breath. Castiel reached a tentative finger, momentarily locking himself away from Heaven, and gently touched them. They were smoother than he expected and Castiel could feel the warmth of his breath as he softly exhaled. Dean barely registered the touch, just the slightest twitch in the muscles as he drew in air. Castiel wondered how breathing could be so, well, breathtaking. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen, and Castiel had seen a lot. Millenniums of laughter and frowns and billions of lips, but none could hold a glass to Dean’s.  
He moved his finger then, following the line of the cupids bow and touching the corner of his mouth, and then to the bottom lip and the stubble beneath it. They were perfect and Castiel could feel his vessel’s heartbeat increasing. He traced the path upwards to the philtrum and then to the sharp curve of his nose tip. He took special care to encircle the small freckles that dotted Dean’s nose. His face felt as if it was sculpted by the Renaissance artists as they tried in vain to create an angel. Castiel smiled inwardly at his own joke. They painted angels to be the flawless children of God, and how wrong they were. But if they could see _this_ man, they would reconsider whom was the most ideal.  
He brushed upward, to the top of his bridge and followed the curvature on to his eyelids. They were soft and wrinkled and he could feel the rapid movement of the organ beneath. It seemed so incredible to Castiel that the very eyes that could drop giants with the sheer might of them could be so thoughtfully concealed under the thinnest layer of skin. Dean’s eyelashes, a long string of perfectly curved hairs just rested on his pillow-like cheeks. Castiel knew them well and could so clearly picture them hitting his cheekbones every time he blinked. Castiel brushed his thumb over the soft skin of Dean’s cheeks and marvelled how silky the tissue was. He then touched upon the eyebrows and right above them, the creases in his forehead. They had been hammered into place after years of forcing the skin to stay like that and it created thin lines tracking across the righteous man's forehead. Castiel watched as Dean’s eyebrows lifted ever so slightly and folded the skin upwards. It relaxed after a moment of bated breath and an increased heart rate on the angel’s part. Even all these tiny imperfections, proof that Dean was human and felt emotions, made him beautiful. Castiel believed that yes, Dean was handsome, but beautiful fitted so much better. It was his soul, the pure golden white that throughout all his pain and suffering, it still remained as whole as they day he was born with it.  
Castiel then followed the curve of Dean’s temple, down the hollows of his cheeks and to the sharp jawline that sent shivers up and down his spine. He let his fingertip move upwards from the slight crease in the chin across the stubble and right back up to the imperfectly perfect chapped lips. Castiel felt the overwhelming urge to meet his own with Dean’s and so he leaned down briefly. A part of him screamed that Dean may wake up and the sheer possibility of his rejection would shatter Castiel’s heart. He just had to, had wanted to know the taste of Dean’s lips the moment he laid eyes on them, pursed in agony in the pit. He moved closer, smelling the cheap soap and smoke scent he had grown accustomed to, and ever so gently pressed his lips against Dean’s.  
The feeling was electric and oh God the _taste_. Of all the things Castiel had experienced so for on his millenniums of Earth, none of it mattered now. Every second, past, present and future had led up to this point, the moment Castiel tasted the most perfect lips. How could a few layers of skin and muscle and warm breath make Castiel feel like he was on fire, like his wings were spread far and wide across the horizon and his fingertips were alight? He felt a stirring, a primal instinct awakening deep inside his gut and he knew, for certain, in this moment, that he never wanted it to end.  
The end came too soon with the force of his thoughts slamming into his mind like water escaping from a broken dam. He lifted his mouth away from the sleeping man’s form in half an instant. What in the name of the Lord was he even _doing_? He had just kissed Dean freaking Winchester while the named was asleep. His head swam with doubt and for a moment he regretted even showing up here. But then Castiel remembered the feeling kissing Dean had given him and he forgot all of the fleeting doubts. Well, until Dean opened his fragile eyelids and the wrinkles in his forehead creased and his perfect lips opened as he spoke one word,  
“Cas?” and then Castiel’s blood ran cold. All his instincts screamed at him to fly away and hide in a cave for all eternity but he stayed frozen. It was Dean’s eyes. The perfect orbs of green and flecks of gold, they felt like a deep pool Castiel was currently sinking in. Or maybe diving would be a more accurate term, because he could feel himself reaching deeper. If the eyes were the window to the soul then Dean’s eyes were wide open and absolutely _breathtaking_.  
“Dean.” he whispered. It did not even count as a whisper, really. It was a breath. As if Dean’s name was something he never stopped saying. It came out so naturally, feeling like velvet or silk on Castiel's tongue. It was as simple and normal as inhaling and exhaling. Castiel could barely remember a time where Dean’s name didn’t drift to his lips.  
He watched as Dean’s face relaxed, only to tense up again as he tried to phrase his question,  
“What are you doing here Ca-” but was abruptly stopped as Castiel kissed him again. His eyes widened in surprise, but when he felt the tip of Castiel’s tongue touch his bottom lip, he sank into the kiss, deepening it. It felt so _right_.  
They stayed like that for what seemed an eternity, Castiel’s hand resting on the curve of Dean’s cheek and his hand running through Castiel’s hair. When the angel broke away, he directed his gaze into Dean’s and smiled,  
“You are the most perfect man I have ever laid eyes on.” he murmured truthfully, “I can’t even express it, I-” Dean laid a callused finger on Castiel’s lips.  
“Shh, Cassie. It’s alright, I understand.” The sound of his voice, clear and awake despite being deeply asleep moments before, sent Castiel into shivers and he pressed his lips to Dean again, his forehead this time, and closed his eyes. He had the strangest feeling that everything was going to be okay.


End file.
